“It’s terrible,” I say. “We both agree on that.”
“Which one of you is willing to stand up and say something about it?”
“Me,” I say automatically.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Exactly. While Cassie’s the one who runs at the first sight of any trouble that she hasn’t caused.”
Anger flares in my chest. He tricked me into that answer. “That’s not true! She’s been going through a tough time.”
“Don’t we all?” He takes another long breath and exhales slowly, like he’s my dad and I’m getting on his nerves. Which only makes me angrier. “If you and Cassie met today, would you be friends?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“You’re a hundred percent positive?” He stares hard into my eyes, searching for a breaking point.
Cassie writing her last-minute essays while saving time for going on exploratory drives, talking with strangers, plunging into a new life in New York City without a plan. Okay, they’re not the activities I’ve generally prioritized, but so what?
Taking the phone from me to tell off Beth, facing down Marcos outside of the library and warning him–a little over the top, sure, but she does those things because she cares.
“What about you and Andreas?” I counter.
“I’d probably want to punt him,” he says, and that releases the tension in my chest for a tiny second. “Look, I don’t agree with everything he does, but I would do anything for him. That’s why I can’t make you a promise. There are very few people I can say that for. Him, my brother, my parents, Juliana.” He pauses. “You. Absolutely.”
My heart swoops at his words, the anger temporarily muted.
“That’s what kills me,” he says. “I’ve only known you for a short time, and I already know I’d do whatever it took to get you out of a bad situation. Cassie would save her own ass before she saved yours. I guarantee it.”
All of the warmth freezes. “Why are you so quick to judge her?”
He starts ticking off points on his fingers. I might actually kill him. “Nelson’s party–she ditched Juliana without so much as a goodbye. You falling in the water. That asshole at the bonfire.”
“All of those things turned out fine,” I say.
“You were vulnerable,” he says like he hasn’t heard a goddamn thing I’ve just said, “and she’s taking advantage of that. It’s the truth. Don’t get mad at me for that.”
Too late.
I’m sick of everyone else’s version of what my truth is. Maybe the real truth lies somewhere in the middle of what everyone thinks is best for me, but I want to be the one who claims it.
“You know what the problem is? This conversation.” I shove my laptop into my backpack.
Marcos spreads his arms in the doorway so that I have to stop. “Can we talk about this?”
It’d be easy to wrap my arms around him. Let myself fall into the smell of coconut and the feel of his back muscles flexing and relaxing and the safety that his arms bring.
My phone rings again. His eyes harden.
This time she’s texted me. Can you come over? I need you. She’s never said it so blatantly since the suicide attempt. She’d rather try to laugh, cheeks pale, than talk about what haunts her.
Pick me up on Main Street in five, I write back. Marcos tries to read what I’m typing, but I slip my phone away and step around him. “If you’ll excuse me,” I say, “my best friend needs me. Surely you can understand that.”
“You’re not walking back,” he says behind me.
“Savannah, slow down. I’ll drive you,” he says when I’m in the kitchen.
“When is your meet tomorrow?” he says when I’m on the steps.
“Is this what you want?” he calls after me, voice straining like it hurts him to ask the question.
My retreating back is the answer.
Except when I walk, I keep hoping that Marcos will follow me. My face stays ahead, but my eyes dart to inspect every car that passes. That damn dog that never shuts up barks incessantly behind me, and I wonder if I’ll hear Marcos’s footsteps soon, his hand on my wrist. His voice steady this time, not aching. I walk until the music fades and the grass becomes trimmed and orderly, the sidewalks filled in. I walk until I think I ought to feel better, but I don’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY
TRUE TO HER word, Cassie scoops me up at the intersection of Pine Needle and Main Street. When she sees me, she slides over to the passenger seat.
I don’t need Marcos. I don’t need those afternoons of drawing triangles and jumping up and down on the wooden floor, kissing until my heartbeat drowns out the dogs barking and the music playing. I have my shaky attempt at a comeback. I have my best friend. I do.
I get behind the wheel and adjust the mirror the way I did the night we drove to the party at the beach, a night that had held so much promise but ended with angry words around the bonfire.
She doesn’t give me a destination. In fact, she doesn’t say anything. So I go.
Cassie stretches her long legs and closes her eyes with a heavy sigh as I turn onto a road off Main Street. “Thank you,” she says. “It’s been a tough day.”
“What’s going on?” I do my best to focus on her words, to take in her body language. She’s exhausted, not clamoring to change the lite rock radio station.
“It’s not so much things going on externally as it is things going on in my brain. You know? I could lie awake all night and experience a hundred emotions without ever moving a muscle.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“Do you?” She’s sitting all the way up now.
“I’m trying to.” I’m also trying to banish any thoughts of Marcos’s ugly words. Cass is finally opening up to me and I want to listen carefully. “The more you tell me, the more I can understand what you’re going through.”
She snorts. “You sound like my therapist. Therapists, I should say. I needed to get out of my own head for a while.”
I make a right onto Salisbury Street. The engine whirs beneath us, creaking a little during the turn. It’s not nearly as loud as Marcos’s.